Forget Me Not
by ScarlettAngel2
Summary: Gilbert struggles with his identity after Prussia is dissolved. He did not expect getting comforted by a foul-mouthed Italian.


**A cookie if you mention any grammatical errors.**

xoxox

The moment the first parts of the wall came crumbling down, like the glorious introduction to a new era, his face appeared in the cloud of dust.

Piercing red eyes, messy greyish white hair, stance proud and powerful with his hands firmly placed on his slender hips. But today he looked so forlorn, a child that was lost in the woods and had finally found the way home again.

His figure trembled as he looked at his little brother, worn-out and filled with the highest relief. His mouth twitched up in a crooked grin, trying to seem brave despite the glistening tears rolling down his pale cheeks.

"Hey there, little bro of mine."

Both men wept openly as they closed the distance and pulled each other into a desperate embrace, hands gripping at clothing and cries of joy escaping their quivering lips.

It was a moment of celebration, of reunion. Reunion between Prussia and Germany. Germany and Prussia. The Prussia. The one who had survived. He who was, who had been, and who still existed after all those hardships.

Only, Prussia wasn't Prussia anymore.

xoxox

It wasn't an easy task for the now ex-nation to adjust to his new life. The period between the end of WWII and the fall of the Berlin Wall, he had been living with Russia, making his dissolution feel strange and unreal. It didn't really help that the Russian lived so secluded from the world, making those years after the war seem even more like a hallucinated dream.

Because of that, Prussia had difficulty getting used to his new identity. Instead of Prussia, the most awesome and amazing country ever, he was now Eastern Germany. A subordinate. Only part of a country. His army was gone, along with his responsibilities, his power, his everything.

Sometimes he would wake up, believing with his entire being that everything had just been a nightmare. That the war was still going on, and he just had to pull on his uniform (_Prussian_ blue), and march out onto the battlefield to order his men around and attack the enemy. Those periods of delusion never lasted long, and awaking from them felt like being slapped in the face, like being thrown into a tub of ice water. He never told his brother, of course. Identity crisis or not, he was still the older sibling of the two. It wouldn't do to have Germany worrying over him.

At the moment, he was living in his brother's basement. Not always that luxurious and often a bit chilly, but he'd tried to make it his new home. He had a soft bed, a desk, a book case with the few diaries he'd been able to save from his previous home, some posters to hide the cracks in the wall. He didn't even mind the mouldy stuff in the corners. What he did mind were Italy Veneziano's occasional visits.

"Oi West! What's that heavenly smell?" the albino asked loudly the moment he walked into the kitchen. But instead of his little brother, he found the Italian nation there, stirring in a big pan with rich pasta sauce.

"Ve~ Ciao Gilbert! I came to make you some pasta!" the ditzy brunette said, smiling happily with his (beautiful) eyes closed.

Gilbert grinned as well, briefly dipping his finger into the pot to have a quick taste.

"Delicious as always Feli!" he cackled, patting the other on the head.

Northern Italy laughed in delight, and Prussia couldn't help but stare at his adorable round face. He looked away the moment Germany entered the room.

"Bruder, stop bothering Feliciano," he sighed. The blond was dressed in an impeccable suit, hair slicked back with even more gel than usual.

The Italian immediately lit up like the Fourth of July and leapt into the other's arms.

"Ve~, Luddy! Gilly wasn't bothering me, don't worry!"

The bulky blond blushed lightly, but automatically returned the hug.

Gilbert sat down at the table, watching the other two from the corners of his eyes. There was another reason the ex-nation wasn't always that happy about living in his brother's basement. Something that kept rubbing itself in his face.

For the longest of times, he'd have a major crush on Northern Italy.

It started out as something completely innocent. A bit of teasing, looking forward to his cooking, a warm fluttering in his stomach when he saw that happy smile. Over the years his infatuation grew, making him look forward to the smell of pasta and the sun, to those cute little sounds Veneziano always made. His time with Russia hadn't weakened his feelings one single bit, perhaps even enforced them.

There was only one little problem. Italy obviously preferred a more sturdy and less red-eyed German nation.

Gilbert wanted for Germany to be happy. He was the awesome big brother after all. He would never try to steal the Italian for themselves. Everyone could see those two were made for each other. That of course didn't mean his heart didn't sting painfully every time he saw them together.

"-so you can just eat that. Got it Bruder? Gilbert? Hey, East! Are you listening to me?"

The albino blinked and looked up.

"Sorry Ludwig, must've dozed off for a little bit. What were you saying?" He quickly plastered on a grin, successfully hiding his true emotions. Germany sighed while North-Italy turned off the stove, whistling a merry tune.

"I said: Feliciano and I are going to visit Japan tonight, so you can eat the pasta. My number is on the fridge if you need me, and please try not to make a mess."

The brunette re-adjusted Germany's tie and dusted off his shoulders. Gilbert averted his eyes from the loving display and gave a nod.

"Yeah, sure. Have fun you two."

Germany started saying something about it being a work-meeting, but the Italian cut him off.

"Kiku's waiting Luddy! Bye Gilbert, see you soon!"

Gilbert waved at them before the door fell shut.

Alone again. What to do?

After eating several plates of the (divine) pasta and putting the leftovers in the fridge, he dropped down onto the couch. He lazily grabbed the remote and pointed it at the small television screen in search of something interesting to watch. There wasn't.

"Piyo!"

Gilbert looked up to see his pet chick sitting on top of his head.

"Hey Gilbird! What are you doing up there kleine Engel?"

The animal flew down to his shoulder and nuzzled against his cheek.

"Piyo!"

Gilbert grinned widely.

"Call Francy-pants and Tonio for a sleepover? Great idea Gilbird!"

Yes, a meeting with the other members of the Bad Touch Trio always lifted his spirits! He sung loudly (and obnoxiously) to himself while scrambling to the phone and dialling the first number. After what seemed like forever, someone finally picked up.

"Hola! Who is this?" the cheerful voice of Spain sounded, although there was a certain edge to it.

"Yo Antonio! It is the Awesome Me!"

"Hola Gilbert! I'm sorry, but I can't talk for long. Netherland came over and he's trying to bargain over my tomatoes."

Ah, that's way he sounded so tense. The usually laid-back and happy-go-lucky nation could get quite fierce when it came to his tomatoes or weapon collection.

"Ah, that's all right. I wanted to ask you to come over, but I'll try Francis."

"Sorry amigo. Today is just not a good- Mogens, get your hands off of my Maria!"

Gilbert gulped as the call was abruptly cut off. Maria was the Spaniard's most prized axe, and he hoped Netherland knew some self-defence tactics.

"Tonio is a bit busy Gilbird… Francis it is then!"

With renewed enthusiasm he dialled the second number and waited for his other best friend to pick up. However, when the call was taken, it wasn't by the one he expected.

"Arthur speaking. Francis is a bit pre-occupied at the moment. Can I take a message?"

"What are you doing at Frenchie's place, Artie?" Gilbert teased. He chuckled as he heard a distinct sigh at the other end of the line.

"None of your business Gilbert. Just some work."

There was a pause where Arthur could be heard shouting at someone, and Gilbert had to take the handset away from his ear when an annoying crashing sound reached him. After some fumbling the Englishman's voice returned.

"Gilbert? My apologies, I dropped the phone. Now, about that message?" He sounded a bit disgruntled, but couldn't hide the fact that he was panting.

"Can you just give me Francis for a moment? It won't take long."

"Get your bloody hands off me, I'm taking you stupid calls for you, you wanker! Sorry Gil, what was that?"

Gilbert repeated his previous question, while wondering just what on earth was happening at France's house.

"He-ah! Sorry Gilbert, but no can do. Some of us do have important business to attend to, other than you."

Gilbert felt a powerful flare of indignity rising up, and could only barely stop himself from hissing "And whose fault is that?!" And he was pretty sure the 'important business' England was talking about, involved France, himself, and a lot of nudity, if the barely disguised moaning in his ear was anything to go by.

"Gotta go, you can try calling back at aaaaaaaaaah a later hour, okay?" And with another curse and a distant "Ohonhonhon~", the call was ended.

Gilbert glared at the phone. Not only didn't France even have the decency to stop flirting when someone was calling, he ignored one of his best friends for some stupid Brit!

But he couldn't get that one comment out of his head.

"Some of us have work to do my ass," he grumbled, curling up on the couch and staring out into the distance. He hated to admit it, but he would actually love to do some work right now.

"Piyo?"

Gilbert smiled as he petted his little bird.

"Tonio and Francy-pants were a bit… 'busy', Gilbird. Guess it's just you and me tonight huh?"

A sudden feeling of loneliness welled up in his chest, and he had to hold in his breath in order not to start sobbing.

His best friends were both too busy for him. Everyone thought he was just a lazy asshole with too much free time (which, by the way, was totally_ their_ fault). And he was alone. All by himself.

Spain had Belgium, France either had a lot of girls or England (if he wasn't being a total tsundere), his childhood friend Hungary had Austria, heck, even Russia had someone (there was no denying the chemistry between him and America, he'd lived in Russia's house and found more than enough evidence).

And Gilbert himself? He had nobody. The only one he was in love with, loved his little brother.

It was hopeless.

He was alone, he wasn't even a country anymore, he was forced to live out his life as an immortal without any of the cool privileges, he had lost his sole purpose, his people, his heart and soul and flag and _everything_. He was a wanderer with a forced smile, not human, not a nation, nothing at all. He belonged nowhere, and nobody belonged to him. The fire in his eyes and heart was dying, the eagle had long since left his side.

He was pathetic.

Knowing nobody was there to judge him, Gilbert pulled a pillow to his chest, and for the first time in a long while, he cried his heart out. Gilbird worriedly tried to soothe him, but to no avail. All the bird could do was fly around in circles, chirp in a high-pitched tone of distress, and sit down on its master's head. Gilbert wouldn't let himself be comforted tonight.

The former Prussian was so lost in his self-pity, that he didn't hear the ringing of the doorbell.

xoxox

Italy Romano impatiently checked his watch (Armani), his boots clicking on the ground. He hadn't come all the way over here just to stand outside of some Kraut's doorway, dammit! If it weren't for his little brother calling and pleading for him to accompany that potato bastard's sibling for the night, he would have been at home right now, taking a nice nap.

But no. Instead he was standing here, doing his brother a favour, an act coming straight from his heart, and that bastard didn't even open the fucking door. He gave up on ringing the doorbell and tried slamming the wood instead.

"Oi! Are you gonna let me in or do I have to break down the windows, you bastardo!"

No answer. Southern Italy sighed and dragged a hand through his dark brown bangs, carefully avoiding the curl sprouting from the top of his head. If Gilbert wasn't going to let him in, then he just had to do it himself.

Remembering the spare key that idiotic potato eater hid in a secret compartment of his mailbox, Romano carefully took it out and opened the door. With a few hurried steps he crossed the hallway, after which he burst into the living room.

"Oi, you jerk! You're supposed to open the door when I- when I…" His jaw didn't so much drop as plummet, the moment he caught sight of the person he was told to visit.

Gilbert was lying on the couch in a foetal position, pale hands tightly gripping a pillow, entire body trembling as long-stretched sobs wreaked through his body, eyes red-rimmed and puffy.

"Gilbert?" Romano asked, not sure this was truly happening. It couldn't be. That had to be an imposter. Or was it April Fools already?

Gilbert looked up at the mention of his name, still wailing like a child. He tried to hold it back, not wanting anyone to see him like this, but it was simply impossible to stop now that he'd started. So he hid his face in his soft lifebelt and kept crying.

Romano awkwardly shuffled his feet. He was uncertain of what to do: leave or stay?

"Hey Prussia, what the fuck are you crying about?"

An extra loud sob escaped at hearing his former name.

"N-not Prussia anymore…" he mumbled, before letting out a hiccup.

A flash of recognition shot over the Italian's face. So that was it. Prussia was crying because he was Eastern Germany now, no longer a country of his own. Romano closed the remaining distance between him and the bawling ex-nation.

But instead of a comforting hug or a pat on the back, Gilbert got smacked in the face.

The albino fell off of the couch in an unruly mess of limbs, Gilbird flying up and chirping indignantly. Gilbert blinked his teary crimson eyes, completely dumbfounded.

"What was-"

"Stop crying like a sissy, you bastardo!"

With one hand Romano dragged the other up by his collar, bringing their faces close. His mouth was tight, eyebrows furrowed angrily.

"You're not the only one who's only half a country," he hissed.

Gilbert froze. There were still some lone tears streaming down his cheeks, but his little emotional breakdown had literally been beaten out of him.

He had totally forgotten about Southern Italy. Maybe there was someone who understood after all.

"Get up."

Romano gave him almost no time to clean or cheer up, forcing him into his jacket and herding him to the front door.

"Where are we going?" the albino asked, voice uncharacteristically soft and a bit hoarse.

"A bar. You look like you need some time away from this junk."

And to the bar they went, the Italian and the ex-Prussian, one dazed and a bit slumped over, the other holding head up high and taking angry, determined steps.

xoxox

"I was afraid I'd disappear, the day of my dissolution."

The two men were seated at a table in a dark corner of a nearly empty bar. The bartender didn't question Gilbert's miserable appearance or Romano's furious vibes, not even the yellow chick following them around, wisely keeping his mouth shut and providing them with wine and beer.

Romano nodded, letting his eyes wander over some girls crossing the dim-lighted room.

"Can't imagine what that must feel like. But you must've been pretty damn terrified."

Gilbert smiled a sarcastic little grin, for once not having to keep up appearances. Romano had already seen him at his worst, he didn't have to pretend to be happy when he felt like shit.

"What pushed you over the edge tonight?" the Italian asked, leaning forward on his folded hands.

Gilbert shrugged.

"Everything just came together, I guess. Me not being a country anymore, the guys were too busy for me, maybe a bit jealous of West, Feli-"

He quickly shut up when he realized he'd almost spilled his secret. But Romano smiled wryly, a look of understanding in his eyes of dark amber.

"Everybody loves Feliciano. He's so adorable, so funny, so sweet and nice and fucking perfect. He's also the reason I came over tonight, you know? Said he didn't want you to get lonely. But he's also one of the biggest airheads, most of the time. Don't know what he sees in the potato bastard either, and I will never understand how they even got together."

A quick sip of wine.

"But there's other fish out there, you know. Less frustrating fish, fish that will make you a lot happier."

Gilbert took another swig from his near-empty glass. How had they gotten onto the topic of fish again? Everything was beginning to get a little blurry with the rising amount of alcohol in his blood.

"Like who?"

Romano shrugged.

"The fuck do I know, you jerk. I'm just trying to cheer you up here. If it were really that easy, do you think I'd still be single?"

They stared at each other for a short while, before Gilbert let out a barking laugh. He laid his head down on the table and sighed.

"You have a really weird way of cheering people up, you know?"

The Italian studied his nails.

"Never said I was any good at it. But I did manage to make you laugh, didn't I?"

Gilbert sent him a thankful smile, a real one. Southern Italy didn't answer it, but his mouth did twitch as he brought his glass to his lips.

Later, or perhaps earlier, as the sun was already beginning to rise again, the two lazily swayed home, arms around the other's waist as they sung (loudly yet surprisingly hitting the right notes). Romano dragged Gilbert up the stairs and dropped him onto his bed, still scowling but with a heavy burst of liquor colouring his cheeks red.

"Danke, Spatz," Gilbert grinned, trying to focus on the Italian (or were there two?) standing next to his bed.

Romano waved at him, slowly making his way back to the door. He stopped and turned around one final time before disappearing.

"And remember, _Prussia_. You're not alone. You're still existing, even though everyone thought you were done for. That's got to count for something, right?"

He sounded frighteningly sober while saying that, his eyes holding a glare to them that cut straight to Gilbert's inner core. The albino had to say something to hold back the sudden happy giggle trying to bubble up.

"You're not gonna stay?"

Romano showed him his middle finger, but he did blush a bit darker at his words.

"Forget about it, you jerk."

As he turned around again and left Gilbert to his own devices, the albino couldn't help but notice the smile pulling at the other's lips.

Gilbert felt himself slowly slipping away into unconsciousness, a lot more at peace than he had been in a long time. One final thought crossed his mind.

Maybe Romano was right. Maybe Feliciano wasn't the right fish for him.

Maybe he needed someone who understood him, who had the same amount of fire, who could remind him that he was awesome enough to defy the very laws of existence.

Someone with a little more spice.

xoxox

**I might add a second chapter, but that is something for the distant future.**

Words:

Ciao: Hi  
>Bruder: Brother<br>Kleine Engel: Little angel  
>Hola: Hi<br>Amigo: Friend  
>Danke: Thanks<br>Spatz: Sparrow


End file.
